Certainty (You Match)

A day. A moment.

The Dakota sand stone.

Carve our initials with a stick

and laugh

at the certain uncertainty of it.

Legs dangle, right triangle,

notes go missing

new ones remain.

Birds, a train, rustling leaves

scuffle of trashed cans.

Kiss me sweetly in this mess

the hourglass drops granules

a dozen at a time.

My belly aches, lips

chalked chapped,

overused:

I’ve whispered, shouted

no use for that here.

Yellows browns all around

white teeth born

from cracked pink mouth.

The wind reminds me of ancestors

who don’t belong to us

and watch with eyes

warmer than these gloved hands.

(What is this place?

I cannot remember ever being here

but I feel the comfort of

shared aloneness.)

The cars in the distance

don’t belong as they zoom by

for no moment lasts forever, he told me,

nothing is here to stay.

But it feels too good to look in his eyes

and feel as though forever

is a certainty we only say is uncertain.

I am a splash of color

alongside all the other.

“You match,” he said

with a smile in his eyes

that told me I could be home.

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